


It's Been a Long, Long Time

by The_Plaid_Slytherin



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Oh No He's Hot, Post-World War II, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-24
Updated: 2018-11-24
Packaged: 2019-08-21 06:20:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16571294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Plaid_Slytherin/pseuds/The_Plaid_Slytherin
Summary: Bucky comes back from the war and something's different. They both feel it. Not like they can do something about it, though.





	It's Been a Long, Long Time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lionessvalenti](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lionessvalenti/gifts).



Steve was there to meet Bucky's train when he mustered out. Of course, he wouldn't have missed it for the world. Bucky was his best friend. He didn't resent Bucky personally for being 4-F. He'd made his peace with that. More or less. Either way, it didn't change his relationship with Bucky.

Then Bucky stepped down from the train and everything he'd ever thought about him was washed away by one thought and one thought alone.

Bucky was a knockout.

Had he always been like this or was it just the uniform? Steve was staring, open-mouthed and possibly drooling, as Bucky ambled (he was really ambling) over to him.

"Hey," he said, adjusting his pack on his shoulder. 

"Hey," Steve answered, trying to avoid making it awkward. 

"How was it having all the dames in New York for yourself all war long?"

Steve scowled. Why was this the first place he went? "Like I had time to think about that while you were gone."

"Oh, come on. You couldn't have missed me that much." Bucky slung an arm around his shoulders. "Now, we're going back to your place, okay? Until I get settled?"

"Of course." Steve didn't throw Bucky's arm off, though that was what was surely expected of him. He liked the weight of it about his shoulders. He'd missed Bucky so much and he wasn't above getting sappy about it. "What's mine is yours."

Bucky grinned and lifted his arm. "I guess you really did miss me."

Steve was sure his face was burning. "You're my best friend, Buck. Of course I missed you. What do you think it was like, getting those half-blacked-out letters, waiting to get a knock at the door." He looked down, not wanting to have this conversation in the middle of the platform, though it wasn't like anyone was looking at them. There were too many reunions going on around them, and Steve was rather uncomfortable aware that he and Bucky were one of the few pairs not kissing.

Is that what he wanted to do now? Kiss Bucky?

He finally chanced a glance up at Bucky's blue eyes. "I'm glad you're home."

"Me too." Bucky finally let go, giving Steve a playful shove that told him whatever awkwardness he was projecting, Bucky hadn't picked up on it. "C'mon, let's go. You can buy me lunch."

**

Things were almost normal after that. Bucky declared he wanted a real New York American meal, so they went to an automat so he could get a hamburger with all the trimmings and apple pie with whipped cream.

"You know, I had French fries in England," Bucky said, "but they don't hold a candle to the American version. They call them chips."

Steve smirked. "Quite the cosmopolitan. You even ate European French fries."

Bucky beamed. "You should go sometime. You'd like it. The _Mona Lisa_ is smaller than I expected."

Steve tried to suppress the flare of jealousy. "You saw the _Mona Lisa_?"

Bucky shrugged. "Culture's important. All this stuff was there and I figured I might not ever get back."

"What else did you see?" Steve knew Bucky wouldn't stop ribbing him, but he'd been living vicariously through Bucky for enough of his life that he might as well do it one more time.

"I saw the lady with no arms." 

"Philistine," Steve muttered, but he smiled. Maybe whatever he'd just had had been just a weird passing fancy brought on by their separation. 

"Hey, this is what we were fighting for, isn't it? The preservation of civilization as we know it? I thought I might as well enjoy it before I left."

"So I guess that means you'll come to the Met with me." 

Bucky made a noncommittal noise, but he was obviously trying not to laugh. It wouldn't take long for them to slide back into their old dynamic, Steve decided.

The train trip back to Steve's apartment was fine, with Bucky letting him talk about some of the art he'd done for the war effort. It hadn't been nearly as interesting as Bucky made it seem, but Steve appreciated that he now had a job with an advertising firm, which promised to be a little more interesting than drawing pictures of victory garden vegetables and caricatures of Hitler.

People were staring at Bucky, but that didn't bother him nearly as much as it had before Bucky had shipped out. Old men wanted to shake his hand, and Bucky didn't even seem to be paying that much attention to the women flirting with him. He'd always been jealous of women flirting with Bucky, he reasoned. He'd just always thought he'd been jealous of _Bucky_.

Things went all right until they got home.

"You've got my stuff?"

"Yup." At the time, Steve had resented being asked to hold on to Bucky's things to free up room at his sister's place as a reminder that he wasn't going anywhere. Now he was glad that it was an excuse for Bucky to stay with him. 

"Well, good to know you haven't been wearing my clothes."

Steve rolled his eyes and unlocked the door. 

"First thing I want to do is take a shower if you don't mind." 

"Go right ahead. My shower is your shower."

Then it become apparent that things were not going okay. Steve spent the next twenty minutes picturing Bucky naked—naked taking off his clothes in Steve's bathroom, naked taking a shower in Steve's shower, naked putting on his clothes. 

It seemed wrong to think about Bucky naked, though he had seen Bucky naked before. But he hadn't been paying attention to him. What the hell was wrong with him? 

"Thanks again." 

Steve jumped. Bucky was out of the shower, thankfully completely dressed. 

"It's really no problem," Steve forced himself to say. "I'm glad you're back. Stay here as long as you like."

"I'll find a job," Bucky promised.

"No rush. I don't blame you for wanting a bit of a break. You deserve it."

Bucky grinned. "Thanks." 

Steve watched him make his way across the living room, vowing to have this attracted-to-Bucky thing under control.

**

Bucky definitely did not have the attracted-to-Steve thing under control. He hadn't expected it to happen when he stepped off the train, but there was Steve, just plain old ordinary Steve—or so he'd thought. 

It had soon become apparent that something had changed about Steve, or maybe something had changed about Bucky. Maybe it had just been how long they'd been apart. Didn't they say absence makes the heart grow fonder? Although he supposed the poets hadn't meant it like this. 

Bucky shifted on Steve's couch. The late August night was hot and he couldn't get comfortable. Tomorrow he'd look for a job and start looking for a place of his own. He had briefly considered going to his sister's but it was too crowded there; he wouldn't be able to hear himself think.

Besides, there was some part of him that liked being near Steve. He hadn't truly felt like he was home until he'd been with Steve. Something about the war had changed him. He'd gone to his sister's for lunch, but it hadn't felt like the same as before the war. Being with Steve did. The only thing that had changed were Bucky's feelings. 

"I'm going to look for work today," he told Steve at breakfast. 

"You don't have to," Steve said to his oatmeal. 

"Nah, I want to be useful." He let that drop, not saying anything about leaving. Just that he was going to be useful. 

Steve looked up and smiled a smile that made Bucky feel like he could float to the ceiling. "That'd be a change."

Bucky grinned. 

**

At least Steve had a built-in respite from Bucky. He went to work. Every day, he put on a suit and tie, picked up his briefcase, and went to a tall building downtown, like a grownup. 

There, he could lose himself in drawing, even if it wasn't that much better than the work he'd been doing during the war. Housewives happy with their soap, men happy with their shaving cream. At least it wasn't Hitler. 

Of course, when he wasn't working, he thought about Bucky. Every returning soldier he saw on the street reminded him of Bucky and he caught the toothpaste guy he was drawing looking a little too familiar. 

Then, in the evening he had to go home. 

He took a train with a bunch of other guys in suits carrying briefcases, all the way back to Brooklyn. And Bucky. Bucky probably wouldn't be there waiting for him. There was no reason he should be. This illusion lasted him all the way to the apartment door which he opened to find Bucky in the kitchen cooking dinner.

He was wearing an apron and had the radio playing. Steve stopped in his tracks. He'd gotten pretty good at forgetting he was attracted to Bucky but it was impossible when this was happening right in front of his eyes. Couldn't a guy catch a break? 

"Hey," Bucky said, looking up from the stove. "Gonna be done soon—it's grilled cheese." He added this sheepishly, as if Steve's staring was because he hadn't made a Sunday roast. "Hope you don't mind."

"Nah, grilled cheese is good." Steve put his briefcase down and hung up his hat. He walked into the kitchen, loosening his tie. "I like grilled cheese."

"I got a job," Bucky was saying. "Down at the drugstore. It's only part time, but it's something. I'll be able to contribute." 

"That's good." Steve watched as he flipped the sandwiches onto plates. Why couldn't he make up his damn mind? Did he want Bucky to stay or not? This sounded pretty permanent. 

"Bon appetit!" Bucky gave a short bow. Steve smiled and sat down at the table. It was good to have this Bucky back, who hummed along with the radio. 

"Tonight, _monsieur_ ," Bucky said, setting the sandwich before him, "we have our finest _fromage grille_."

Steve looked up at him. "Is that real French?"

Bucky looked coy. "Maybe."

Something was definitely different about him since he'd been home, Steve decided. It took some getting used to, but it wasn't all bad. He seemed to be doing pretty well, considering. Steve hadn't pressed him for details, though he'd told Bucky if he ever needed to talk, Steve was here.

He hadn't taken him up on the offer. 

"You pick up any French overseas?" he hazarded.

"Some." 

"Any French girls?" This, if he was honest, was what he was most worried about, as much as he hated himself. 

"No." Bucky's answer was blunt and they chewed in silence for a while. 

"This is good," Steve said. "I'd like to come home to your cooking more often." 

He regretted it as soon as he'd said it; he hadn't meant to start flirting with Bucky, but Bucky grinned. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Well." He looked as though this would be a great inconvenience. "I'll see what I can do. You might get tired of sandwiches, though." 

**

Bucky quickly exhausted all the recipes he already knew and if Steve thought it was odd that he came home one day with a copy of _Fannie Farmer_ , he didn't say anything about it, but he at least seemed to appreciate that his oeuvre diversified with additions like macaroni and cheese and roast chicken. 

They got through two weeks of this, with Bucky's couch looking more and more like a bed. Looking more and more permanent. Bucky's job was enough to give them some extra money, which they spent mostly on the weekend. They never did anything they would have done before the war—they didn't go to Coney Island or try to pick up girls. If Steve wanted to do these things, he never suggested it. 

Something had to give sooner or later, though. They could not go on like this. He just didn't know how to go about it.

One Saturday, they did what Bucky had been planning for them to do all along. They went to the Met.

Bucky had never been there willingly but he was trying to see things in a new light, through Steve's eyes. He let Steve lead the way and didn't even object to the choice of room, or when Steve spent twenty minutes staring at one painting. 

"Are you going to do any drawing?" he asked suddenly. 

"Oh." Steve looked down in surprise. "No, I didn't bring my sketchbook."

That was how it had always been when they were kids; Bucky accompanying Steve to the museum so he could copy the masters. Perhaps that was when he'd first started noticing Steve, seeing him bent over his sketchpad, nose nearly touching the paper. 

He hadn't needed to come with Steve; he'd always known Steve could look after himself. Was it, then, so bad if he wanted to be with him anyway? 

"Why not?" he asked.

Steve shrugged. "I guess drawing at work all day means I don't think to do it at home."

"You should. I liked seeing you do it. I mean, I liked seeing you draw stuff—whatever you wanted."

Steve was smiling. "You think I should go back to drawing stuff?"

"If you want to."

"Maybe I will."

The next day on the way home from work, Bucky bought Steve a blank sketchbook and a new set of charcoals. Just to give him the opportunity if he decided to do anything with them. 

**

Something had to give sooner or later, Steve thought. He'd taken Bucky up on his suggestion to go back to drawing _stuff_ and that's how they'd been spending evenings all through the fall, sitting out on the porch or the fire escape, Steve drawing. It was too cold for that now, so Steve was drawing at the kitchen table, which wasn't very inspiring. 

They could not go on like this. The weight of that realization hung heavily on his mind. Bucky had been sleeping on the couch, but he couldn't stay there forever. Nor could he come into Steve's bed. Not without making it terribly awkward, of course. He thought about what would happen if he suggested they go out and buy another bed for Bucky. 

He sighed and set down his pencil. He couldn't concentrate. He always felt antsy when Bucky worked on Saturdays, even if it was only part time. He didn't like that after spending all day working during the week that he couldn't even see Bucky on the weekend.

Damn, he sounded like they were married. 

Was that what he wanted?

He rubbed the back of his neck and cast his pad aside to start dinner.

**

Bucky climbed the stairs to their apartment (their apartment? He guessed so.), catching the strains of the radio as he reached the door. Something smelled good, too. He smiled and pushed the door open.

"Hey," he said, pausing in the doorway to take in the sight of Steve at the stove.

"Hey yourself. How was work?"

"Fine." Bucky hung up his jacket, unable to stop his feet from moving a little to the music. "Whatca got going?"

"Stew. It's cold out there. I figured you could do with some stew."

"Sounds good." Bucky couldn't take his eyes off Steve as he put the lid on the pot and then made his way over. Perhaps it was his imagination but Steve seemed to be watching him, too, although he was trying to hide it with the pot lid. 

"I like this song," Steve said. "It's new." 

Bucky's heart dropped all the way to his knees. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." He was near enough that Bucky could have reached out and touched him.

So he did. 

"Want to dance?" He tried to keep his voice casual, but there might have been an edge of panic to it.

Steve didn't seem to notice. "Sure." 

It wasn't weird for them to do this. They had done it before. It was how they'd learned to dance.

What was weird, however, was for them to dance to such a slow, sappy song, and not even have it be about learning some new dance step. 

This was just Steve in Bucky's arms and lyrics Bucky didn't want to think too hard about. He wondered if Steve had thought about them and why he liked the song. 

He didn't know which one of them had decided Bucky was leading. He felt like anything but. 

"Seems to me like you should be leading," he told Steve. 

"You think so?" Steve had a look on his face that was both very familiar and very odd. It was the look he always had before deciding to do something crazy. 

Bucky's heart was pounding. His palms were sweaty. Kitty Kallen was singing about kissing. 

"The stew," Steve said suddenly. 

"Forget about the stew," Bucky said suddenly and kissed him. 

He'd obviously taken Steve by surprise, but he couldn't stand for them to lose this moment they'd been building to, if in face they'd been building to a moment.

It seemed like they had because Steve was shifting in his arms and kissing him back. Bucky pulled him closer. How long had he been thinking about this? Too long. Long enough. 

"God, Steve," he muttered.

"Don't stop." 

So he didn't stop. They kissed desperately, standing there long after the music ended. 

"Really," Steve said, "the stew." He let go of Bucky reluctantly, his hand brushing Bucky's jaw, causing Bucky to make a noise he was deeply ashamed of.

He followed Steve over to the stove. "Was that weird?"

"It was very weird." Steve accepted the bowls Bucky took down from the cabinet. "But that didn't mean there was anything wrong with it."

"You liked it?" 

"What the hell do you think?" 

Bucky leaned in and kissed his neck. "So I guess that means you'd be up for doing it again?"

Steve's response was to pull Bucky down for another kiss. 

He took that for a yes.


End file.
